Too Much
by Ghanaperu
Summary: "Please don't die. Please, please don't die. Just please. Don't. Die." Danny's worries, and worries about his worries. Written in first person. NOT slash! Only my second fic, so please feel free to tell me if I've got the characters wrong.


Please don't die. Please, please don't die. Just please. Don't. Die.

That's all that ran through my head, louder and louder every day - because every day I cared a little bit more. I looked at him more times in a day, checked that he was still standing or sitting or sleeping: that he was still living. Still breathing, still there with me.

Worrying like that is not a new experience for me; I have loved a lot of people. And I have lost a lot because of it, and been hurt deeply way more times than he has. But that is only because I have allowed myself to be vulnerable (that's what love is, making yourself vulnerable to another person) more times than he has. He is more careful, safer, more cautious. Has plans and backup plans and backup for the backup plans. I love that about him. I love a lot of things about him, and that's why the phrase in my head won't go away. And it's because of what we do that I can never rest, never sit down knowing for sure that he is safe. There is always a hint of danger lurking near him. It's unnatural - I think he looks for it. Idiot.

So over and over it repeats itself, until right now, when I discover that I don't hear it anymore. It's still there, but is such a constant companion that I have learned to keep functioning and not be paralyzed by all the maybes. And that realization undoes however long it's taken me to get this far, because as soon as I notice that I am not consciously worrying about him every second, the worries return full-force.

I suddenly have a very strong desire to call him, just to make sure he can still answer the phone. The logical part of me says it is two in the morning and I saw him at eleven when we left the office so of course he is fine; but it is some other part of me that gets out of bed and picks up the phone. It rings once, twice, and then he picks up. I breathe out the breath I didn't know I was holding, at the sound of his voice.

He wants to know if something's wrong.

"No, no. I'm fine. Go back to sleep."

He mumbles something about worrying too much, and hangs up. I should feel embarrassed about that, but I'm not. He's fine, so now I can sleep. And it's good for him to know I care. Maybe being confronted with my outward displays of affection will encourage his emotional growth. He was definitely stunted somewhere along the way, and I've made it my personal mission to help make up for that. (I try not to think about whether that is just an excuse for my desperate need to touch him, make sure he's okay, after every time he goes off alone; or a real mission of mine.)

I care too much sometimes, I know. When it gets in the way of the job, then it is overboard. I have to be willing for his life to be at risk, every day - because that is what it takes to keep other people safe. When I took this job, I knew I would risk my life (I'm fine with that), but I didn't realize how hard it would become to let him risk his.

I never meant to care this much; it sort of snuck up on me when I wasn't looking. But now I can't change it (I wouldn't want to anyway) and I've just got to keep saying goodbye and hello and I'm glad you're still safe, and keep living every day like it could be the last. Because it could. And (of course) he insists on showing me how easy it would be.

Dying is not a complicated thing - we are fragile people. Even SEALs. (I try to tell him this, but he refuses to acknowledge it: doesn't want to see himself as mortal). But I've been to too many funerals to ever forget the brevity of life. Ever.

It's three in the morning now, and I'm trying to decide if calling him again is too close to the line of caring too much. It probably is. So I'll wait until tomorrow morning.

This is too much like an obsession. I have to be a person apart from him. Maybe I need to leave for a while, step away and try to figure out again who I am without him. That might be what's necessary, but hey, I can always decide that in the morning. Or next week. Or next month. Yeah, I don't think I'm going to be able to convince myself.

:::

He left. He went off on another of his crazy missions, to who-knows-where, all by himself. Without me. So I guess I don't have to leave to see who I am without him - he's conveniently giving me time to figure it out here. Now. Alone.

I just found this out this morning, and I have already decided that if I can figure out where he went and why, I'm going after him. Actually, even if I can't find out why, I'm still going.

I'm not sure what that says about my ability as a person apart from him. But you know what? I don't care. I was my own person before him, and I will still be my own person when he is gone. Loving someone doesn't mean that I am incapable of surviving without him, it just means I would prefer not to have to.

So I'll find him, and he'll be fine, and I will tell him I worried and yell at him for leaving without me, and he will smile and say he's sorry but he really needed to and he just wanted to keep me safe; and we'll hug and it'll all be good. That's the way it's gonna turn out. And I'll shoot anyone who says differently.


End file.
